


Lost Magic

by Eremiss



Series: Guinevere Ashe [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Breakfast, Dishes, Fluff, Honesty, Magic Theory, Talking, Understanding, but messing up along the way, distracting yourself from the bigger problem, surprise, trying to do something nice, with things you can actually work on and help with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:35:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25582219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eremiss/pseuds/Eremiss
Summary: Even on the First, where he's only a soul, Thancred can't use magic.When G'raha recruits the First's purported master of souls, Beq Lugg, to help return the Scions to the Source, Gwen starts wondering if they might be able to help Thancred, as well.
Relationships: Ryne | Minfilia & Warrior of Light, Thancred Waters/Original Female Character(s), Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Series: Guinevere Ashe [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632004
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	Lost Magic

It’s a bright, sunny morning in the Crystarium, though the lumpy clouds far out to the east hint at a storm later.

Gwen stares out at the clear sky, twirling, tapping and flipping her pen in one hand, with her chin cradled in the other. She’d gotten an early start writing, and had only just finished.

Thancred and Ryne are hard at work in the kitchenette, having taken it upon themselves to prepare breakfast since they had a rare day to themselves. She’d been preoccupied with writing when they’d gotten started, but neither of them minded one bit and told her to keep at it while they cooked.

They’d bickered a little over what to make, but Gwen hadn’t been listening enough to know what they’d settled on. Rather than admit to her continued inattention by asking them, she resigned herself to wait in mild suspense.

Gwen drops her gaze to the open pages. Now that she’s finally finished writing out everything she and Beq-Lugg had spoken about the previous evening, which took far less time than the actual discussion, she’s come to the hard part: how she might go about figuring out where exactly Thancred stands with his ‘limitation’, as he puts it, and how receptive he is –or _isn’t_ – to well-intentioned meddling in his affairs. 

Given his reticence on the topic, it’s hard to know for sure. It’s always been a touchy subject, and his time on the First, where he’s well and truly the only one without magic, hasn’t made it any less so. 

But that’s exactly what got Gwen thinking in the first place.

Thancred’s magic-less condition persisted on the First, where he and the others were only souls, or only their ‘incorporeal aether,’ so it stands to reason the cause runs soul-deep. And Beq Lugg, according to G’raha and their own admission, is more knowledgeable than just about anyone else on matters of the soul.

So Gwen couldn’t help wondering… and then pondering… and then theorizing… and eventually getting to the point of discussing the whole thing with Beq Lugg, and, well…

…Suffice it to say, maybe she should have brought all this up with Thancred by now. Well before now, actually. First, even.

He’s loath to admit it, but Thancred is insecure about many things, particularly his own perceived usefulness and sense of self worth. Losing his ability to manipulate aether had been detrimental to both. _“So long as I have the means to protect those dear to me, and to see my duties through, that’s all that matters,”_ he’d said while they’d been searching for leonine in the Hills of Amber, with a certain bitterness on his tongue and no minor amount of frustration tugging at the corners of his mouth. He’s been able to find ways to compensate for his condition, but she knows he chafes at the necessity to be so thoroughly and overly prepared. She knows he feels less useful and less effective than he wants– than he truly _is_.

All of that serves to make it even trickier to discuss. Or maybe it’s only tricky because she’s just not the best at laying out her thoughts on the first go, and sensitive topics don’t normally have much room for backtracking and rephrasing. She doesn’t intend to keep it a secret (anymore) but figuring out how to talk about it without sounding… 

Well, without sounding like she wants to _fix_ him, for one, is proving difficult. She knows he’s frustrated by his condition, and all she wants is to figure out if there’s a way to give him the option of alleviating it. If there is, she could at least give him the choice. And if he decided to forego it, to live without magic, that would be fine too. She’s not trying to force him, or make him feel ass though he _needs_ to change. Absolutely not. She merely… wants to give him the opportunity to not be so frustrated all the time; to stop glowering at aetherytes, and putting on that strained, uncomfortable smile whenever he tries to crack a joke about the inconvenience of it all.

How to bring up that she not only has been pondering his condition, an aspect of himself he doesn’t care to bring attention to, but also discussed it with someone else, is tricky too. She knows firsthand what it’s like to be left out of the loop and be the last to know things despite being the very subject of the aforementioned discussions. She knows what it’s like to question what people really think, and wonder why they felt like they couldn’t tell her; why they felt like _she_ didn’t deserve to _know_. As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. That she’s kept it a secret for this long already has guilt crawling uncomfortably up and down her back.

Figuring out how to go about all that pragmatically and realistically, without getting his hopes up or sounding like it might as well be a waste of time, is the most difficult. It’s just theories. _Guesses_. It’s worth looking into, but it might well go nowhere. There’s no reason to get Thancred’s hopes up for anything less than a sure thing.

But rather than pondering how to approach such a touchy subject, Gwen is finding it much easier to wonder when the rain will come or guess what Thancred and Ryne are cooking. Likely because those are pleasant and harmless.

Gwen looks over her shoulder and finds Ryne perched on a step stool, reading ingredients off a piece of paper while stirring something in a mixing bowl. Thancred is swapping between minding something on the stove and retrieving the requested items.

They have all morning, after all, so why not make a real breakfast?

Watching them together is just so… It’s carefree and peaceful. Domestic, even. It’s _nice_. And far from the norm, even though Gwen wishes that weren’t the case.

Judging by the small, contented smile on his face, Thancred feels much the same. It’s rare to see him so genuinely at ease as he is now, bustling around looking for measuring cups and flour and muttering about needing to fix the kitchen scale. Sometimes he’s even humming.

It’s all so very sweet she can’t help smiling. Warm, fluffy fondness and lighthearted, happy things tickle in her chest and make her thoughts a little rosy. If they could just stay like this…

She shakes her head and calls, “Do you, ah, need any help?”

“No,” Ryne replies brightly, double-checking measurements on the recipe.

Thancred is digging through the chillchest, “We can always come up with something if you’re truly desperate.”

Gwen glances down at her journal, at the little smudges of ink on her fingers, then back towards them. She isn’t quite desperate, much as she might prefer a distraction. Besides, watching them work together is adorable, and she doesn’t want to intrude on their father-daughter bonding time.

“I’m here if you need me,” Gwen says.

He shoots her a wry grin. “We’ll be sure to shout.”

She pouts and Ryne giggles.

Gwen turns back to her journal. No procrastinating. Focus. So…

Nothing comes to fill in the empty space.

Gwen huffs, unsurprised but still disappointed. For want of a better idea she starts thumbing through the pages, hoping she might stumble upon a flash of inspiration somewhere.

Instead she finds the little reminder she wrote about contacting Y’shtola to discuss details about the Lifestream and the Flow spell. Information on both could surely be useful, and the erstwhile conjurer has a far more comprehensive understanding of each, and everything in between, than Gwen could hope to attain in a small amount of time.

But Y’shtola will also likely have some things to say about Gwen imposing herself on Thancred’s affairs without his knowledge, good intentions or not, and invading his privacy –and isn’t _that_ ironic?– and probably something about her habit of distracting herself, too.

Much as all that makes her frown, she can’t say it would be unwarranted.

Similar to the way her mind would rather veer off and focus on the weather or the wonderful aroma starting to fill the apartment instead of figuring out how to best approach a touchy subject, perhaps she’d prefer to focus on something she can try to do something about. 

Something _besides_ the dissolving link between her friends’ souls and their bodies that is utterly beyond her to stop, or even help with. Or the discomfort and uncertainty, and the guilt over both, that that conflict and twist in her chest when she wonders if Thancred might decide to stay on the First instead of return to the Source. Or the gnawing apprehension of knowing that one day, if all goes well, the others depart the First with no way of returning, and Ryne will lose her family. Or the bleak musings about what will happen when the differences in time start to grow and the two worlds fall out of sync, months and years passing in one while days and weeks pass in the other, and what sort of havoc that will wreak on her visits to the First. Perhaps enough to put a stop to them.

Gwen combs her fingers through her hair, frowning petulantly at the bright, cheery sunshine outside. She almost wishes she hadn’t started looking into all of this in the first place.

In the kitchenette, Ryne and Thancred are both at the stove. He’s talking about something to do with properly timing dishes so everything finishes cooking at the same time.

Ryne looks like she’s waiting for him to go back to focusing on whatever he’s in charge of cooking.

Gwen turns back to her journal before either of them catch her watching them behaving like a sweet little family.

Still in search of some way to begin a conversation she doesn’t fully want to have, she flips back and forth between a few more pages. She eventually settles on her regretfully incomplete account of Thancred’s condition and what few theories she’s come up with that have held up thus far.

It had been a difficult task to try and catch Beq Lugg up to speed on everything while both not being entirely up to speed herself and attempting to be as discreet as possible. She’d even been careful not to say Thancred’s _name_ , and had instead spent the whole discussion referring to him as her ‘friend’, or her ‘fellow Scion.’

Unfortunately, it had been impossible to entirely avoid the subject of Lahabrea. Thancred’s physical and aetheric condition prior to losing his magic was far from unimportant and, by extension, so was how it came to be.

Frankly, it was foolish that she’d even hoped to be able to omit that unfortunate bit of history. 

She’d kept her description of that time as discreet and clinical as possible, restricted to a mere summary. “Prolonged exposure to an overabundance of Dark-aspected aether that was purged with Light, after which he was left particularly susceptible to magic and tempering.”

While she was yet undecided on whether or not ‘an Ascian’ and ‘overabundance of Dark-aspect aether’ were actually as equivalent and interchangeable as her explanation made it seem, or what difference such details might make, she knew the whole truth wasn’t hers to give. She had avoided implications and insinuations as best she was able and had left Beq Lugg to come to their own conclusions.

Thancred surely wouldn’t be too pleased to know she’d shared that particular _ignominy_ , as he called it, no matter how vague and discreet she’d been about it. 

Beq Lugg thankfully hadn’t pried at the uncomfortable topic. And they’d been kind enough to promise not to mention so much as a word of what Gwen had shared. 

With all of the context, awkward bits and all, and what little other information could offer out of the way, they had then turned to theories. Gwen’s, specifically, as she’d had far more time to ponder.

So she’d started…rambling, honestly. But Beq Lugg had seemed appreciative of her thoroughness and consideration, flimsy and thin as all of her suggestions were, given that she’s hardly an expert on souls or Thancred’s condition.

Gwen touched only briefly on the subject of the tonic Beq Lugg gave the unfortunate souls at the Inn at Journey’s Head, the one meant to, “temporarily stimulate the aether in one’s body.” Despite her curiosity about what sort of effect it might have on Thancred she wasn’t yet overeager to try it, at least not before they better understood his condition. To do otherwise would only be gambling with his physical well-being, at best–and connection to his body on the Source at worse.

That Beq Lugg hadn’t made much effort to linger on or explore that avenue of thought, nor seemed overly intrigued by the suggestion, said they were of a similarly cautious mind about it. Or perhaps they knew it wasn’t an idea worth pursuing. They had a far better understanding of how the potion worked after all, and even Gwen’s paltry account of Thancred’s condition might well have been enough for them to know it wouldn’t help.

Eventually Gwen had gotten around to explaining her theory that Thancred’s previous sensitivity to magic was due to being exposed to Lahabrea’s Dark aether, and that very sensitivity might have played some part in him losing his magic. In the same way his condition persisted when he was only a soul, perhaps that sensitivity had followed him into incorporeality in the Lifestream. Though, following that line of thinking, she hasn’t yet figured out whether it was the prolonged exposure to the Lifestream or his ungentle expulsion from it that was more likely to have stolen his magic. 

Unfortunately that theory ended as all of hers had: unresolved, and with more questions than answers. 

Y’shtola’s emerging –seemingly– unscathed and unaffected from her second trip in the Lifestream didn’t do much to clear anything up, either. The circumstances were different in every regard, from her being more experienced with Flow and generally more magically powerful, the drastically shorter time spent adrift, the fact that it was only her soul and not her body, and that an Ascian had been the one to singlehandedly save her.

Besides all that, Gwen might not even be _right_ about his sensitivity being caused by Dark-aspected aether in the first place. And even if she is, his current inability to use magic sounds much more like stagnation and passivity as opposed to growth–like an excess of Light, rather than Dark. And she has no way to explain that either. 

Is her premise even remotely accurate? And if it is, then what happened? Could he have… swapped somehow, from an excess of Dark to an excess of Light? How? And why?

Perhaps it could have had something to do with how she’d purged Lahabrea? A consequence of being exposed to so much Light after being steeped in Darkness, similar to how overapplication of heat to frostbitten limbs will only damage them further? Or perhaps more like a sunburn…

Like with every other question and theory, she can’t say for sure. 

Similarly, she has no idea about the specifics of Thancred’s aetheric state when he was flung into the Lifestream. When Beq Lugg had inquired about it, Gwen had only been able to shrug. Much as she’s aware of how important that particular bit of information might prove to be, she doubts anyone, even Thancred, can tell them a great deal about it.

The best Gwen can do in that regard is, once again, ask Y’shtola. She had been in charge of Thancred’s care and recovery once he’d been released from the Phrontistery, and had kept an eye on him even after he’d recovered. Plus, her ability to see aether would allow her to give Beq Lugg a more precise and detailed account of his current condition. 

…Which brings Gwen right back to her current issue: How to bring up and discuss all this with Thancred without ruffling feathers or inflicting undue harm.

She sighs heavily, feeling the faint pulse of a headache behind her eyes. 

Whatever Thancred and Ryne are making, the apartment smells _wonderful_. And… a bit like burning?

Gwen turns to find both of them moving around somewhat frantically. Ryne is jerking something out of the oven and Thancred is hurriedly scraping things out of a pan and onto a plate.

Gwen makes a hesitant, questioning sound. 

“It’s fine!” Ryne says hurriedly.

Thancred mutters under his breath, moving to dump the pan in the sink.

“It smells wonderful,” Gwen offers reassuringly. She’s been so caught up thinking over everything she hasn’t had the chance to notice just how hungry she is and the smell, even with the hint of char, almost makes her stomach growl.

Ryne’s face brightens with relief and Thancred’s shoulders loosen slightly.

Gwen closes her journal with a satisfying, almost defiant snap and pushes herself up. If they did the cooking, she can handle setting the table and doing the dishes.

Besides, maybe a break will clear her head.

After a few unnecessary explanations for the minor imperfections the three sit down for a hearty, almost-overcooked farmer’s breakfast and slightly-too-dark biscuits. The looks that shoot back and forth between the pair say Thancred might be to blame for some of it, but he resolutely admits to nothing. 

Gwen isn’t the least bit bothered by the food, and is only amused by the looks they keep trading. She has no difficulty pushing aside all the things buzzing so demandingly around her head and devoting her attention to the food and easy conversation about things that are far less dire, like Ryne’s lessons, the changes in the Empty, when they plan to return to Mord Souq.

Ryne’s lessons are simultaneously interesting yet boring, as lessons often seem to be. The Empty hasn’t changed in any appreciable way since they last restored an element, which is par for the course; the dark-haired girl is yet unconscious, though stable and seemingly doing well. Thancred and Ryne mean to stay in the Crystarium for another week or so before reconvening with Urianger at their quasi-headquarters-slash-‘home away from home’ in Mord Souq. From there they’ll set about making preparations for their next foray into the Empty.

If Gwen had known that the coin G’raha had given her to ‘crack her purse’ with had been valuable enough to afford them a _house_ –an old, rather neglected one, admittedly– she would have been far less willing to accept it. 

With the conversation growing uncomfortably close to the sort of ‘work talk’ they preferred to avoid when at all possible, they quickly bring that particular discussion to a close.

Ryne and Gwen get to talking about botany, and they while away the rest of breakfast chatting about the Hortorium, the Cabinet’s selection of books about plants, and the flora and fauna in Lakeland and Amh Araeng.

Thancred doesn’t participate much, perfectly happy to simply listen to them chatter on. It’s not long before he’s wearing that easy, contented look again.

Ryne proposes they take a trip into Lakeland for some hands-on botany experience. She’s far more excited about it than Gwen thought she would ever be, truth be told. And, despite her endearing excitement, Gwen has to turn her down. She doesn’t know when the storm will blow in, but they likely won’t make it past Fort Jobb before having to turn tail and flee back to the Crystarium.

“But you don’t have lessons tomorrow, right?” Gwen asks before Ryne’s face can droop with disappointment. “We’ll go then. And we can stop by the Crystalline Mean on the way out of town and see if there are any botany leves.”

Ryne enthusiastically agrees, then turns to Thancred. “Will you come too?”

“You’ll hardly need me,” he drawls, his slight smile betraying his disinterested tone. 

Ryne pouts at him, staring expectantly.

Thancred throws up his hands after only a few seconds, “Alright, alright, no need to twist my arm.” He shoots Gwen a look that distinctly seems to say, _She got that from you_. “For now–”

“Cleaning,” Gwen says. “I’ll handle it.”

After breakfast Ryne returns to her adjoined room, intent to spend some time studying up on Lakeland’s plants. As Gwen collects all of the dishes her journal, closed and forgotten off to one side of the table, reminds her of everything she’d been stewing on before breakfast.

She frowns, worries her lip, then starts hauling dishes to the sink.

Flour, bits of discarded vegetables, eggshells, and a frankly inordinate amount of dirtied bowls and measuring utensils are scattered all over the kitchenette, not unlike the remnants of an explosion. Thancred helps her round everything up, offering no explanations and rigorously avoiding the look of perplexed scrutiny on her face.

Without the droning background noise of an empty stomach or the beginning strains of a headache, her head doesn’t feel quite as loud or overfull as it had before. That doesn’t do much for helping her reach a solution, but it does afford her room to think more clearly

As Gwen fills the sink with water she considers that, if Thancred weren’t joining their little expedition tomorrow, she could just leave her journal behind. Poring over it like she had before breakfast seems to be the sort of thing that cues him to steal a look.

Hells she still has time to contrive some reason to go out today and be gone for a few bells before the storm hits, if she really wants.

No. That’s just cowardly.

Surely she’s thinking far too much about this, anyway? Surely she doesn’t need to be so worried? Yes it’s a sensitive topic, but he trusts her. They’re… close. Clarifying anything beyond that is yet a bit murky and complicated, but at the very least they are near and dear to one another. Being careful about how she approaches the topic would be prudent, but giving herself a headache over it? That’s going too far. 

Gwen piles in the dishes and starts scrubbing bits of egg off the skillet. 

So now… Well, she still has to figure out how to bring it up. And when. But somehow it doesn’t sound quite so imposing of a challenge anymore.

Sometime when it’s just the two of them, preferably. Even though Ryne is well aware of Thancred’s condition and how it irks him, he’s the one who should decide whether or not to fill her in about this, and how much. And the same goes for the other Scions–excepting Y’shtola, perhaps.

As to how to go about starting a conversation, the best answer, probably, is to just _start it_ and go from there. It’s hardly a plan, but clearly planning hasn’t been getting her anywhere.

Gwen feels a presence behind her a second before a hand glides across the small of her back. The gentle weight and warmth of it inspires a pleasant little shiver up her spine that puts a smile on her face. “Need a hand?”

“No,” she says. She shifts to one side and shoots him a smile, “But if you’re truly desperate.”

Thancred takes the space she left, standing a little closer than necessary, like always, and sets to drying.

After the skillet and the drinking glasses have changed hands the buzzing under her skin finally becomes too much for merely scrubbing dishes to dispel. 

“So, I’ve been thinking…” And then the words peter out and she has nothing. Gwen closes her mouth and frowns at the soapy water. 

Thancred hums at her, “As per usual,” prompting her to continue.

She shakes her head, “Sorry, I’m trying to figure out where to start.”

“Take your time,” he replies nonchalantly. After the silence stretches for a few seconds he asks, “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with what had you buried in your journal all morning?”

Gwen nods, weighing the different options in her mind. “I was sorting everything out.”

“And ‘everything’ is…?”

That’s as good a place to start as any. She takes a slow, steadying breath. “I’ve… been thinking about your, ah, condition.”

Thancred’s hands still just for a second. Then they resume moving. His tone is a little dry, like she’d expected, “Oh?”

“I’ve wondered about it quite a bit, actually, after you first told me you still couldn’t manipulate aether here,” she says, focusing on washing and getting the words out before they have the chance to fall apart or get tangled up. “It’s… a bit curious, don’t you think?”

“Not as curious as getting one’s soul dragged to another world, and everything else that’s cropped up since,” he replies with a sardonic smile. “But I take your meaning. Truth be told, I was a bit surprised myself to find that particular limitation had followed me here.”

The dryness of his tone is unsurprising, but at the same time he hasn’t yet lost that conversational air he had when he’d started helping with the dishes. 

“And then,” Gwen trails off, considering where to go next. She doesn’t want to immediately jump to her conversation with Beq Lugg, but she doesn’t know how much preamble she can, or needs, to jumble together. “And then G’raha suggested seeking out Beq Lugg when I told him about your souls’ connections to the Source growing weaker. Apparently no one in all of Norvrandt is more knowledgeable about souls than them.”

“Not that there’s a great deal of competition,” Thancred comments, finally setting aside the glass he’d been drying for much too long.

Gwen rolls her eyes and passes him another.

He takes it and gets to drying.

“I think,” she says, choosing her words but trying to sound like she isn’t, “if you still have your condition here, when you’re only a soul–”

“Then who better to solicit for advice than a posited master of souls,” he finishes, thoughtfulness seeping into his tone.

Gwen nods. Breathes. “So I did.” The admission makes her heart pound and shoulders tense.

Thancred stops again, for longer this time. When he resumes drying his movements are noticeably slower. His exhale might be a bit sharp.

She resolutely focuses on scrubbing dishes and talking, trying to only study Thancred’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. “I know it wasn’t my place, whatever my intentions and… I’m sorry. That I went to Beq Lugg without you, and that I’ve gone so long without saying anything at all. I…” She pauses, debating with what to say and how to say it. She sighs. “To be honest I wasn’t sure how you’d react when I told you I’d been doing all that thinking, so I… put it off.”

He makes a thoughtful sound and she feels his gaze settle on her. 

“You’ve never,” Gwen gestures vaguely with one hand, searching for the best way to explain, “been terribly open to discussing it. Not that I blame you, of course. So I was… nervous to bring it up at all. Probably _too_ nervous, I know, but, ah. Old habits die hard. I’m sorry.”

She’s surprised he doesn’t have something to say yet, not even some sort of disparaging grunt or inane change of topic to try and end the conversation.

When she chances a proper look she finds his expression is a great deal more thoughtful, almost pensive, than she expected.

Perhaps he didn’t realize he’d been so very unapproachable and closed on the subject, even to her.

Gwen decides to fill the silence instead of letting it linger, lest she lose her momentum. Her eyes wander even as she stays mostly turned towards him, “And everything I’ve been thinking, what I went to Beq Lugg about, is… It’s just theories and conjecture. I’m– well, _we_ , I suppose, are just guessing. For all I know,” she shrugs dismally, “we’re just wasting our time. I didn’t want to get your hopes up before I had some kind of definite answer. I still don’t, but, ah. Well,” she offers a small, rueful smile, “I know a thing or two about being the last to know things. It’s… not a good feeling.”

Thancred’s expression eases, drooping a little at the edges. 

Gwen turns her attention to the plate she’s scrubbing, taking another steadying breath. “That’s… not all.”

“No?” he sounds more curious than surprised. 

She shakes her head, scratching at a bit of stuck-on food and wincing at the sound of her nails against the porcelain. “I was… I didn’t want to give the impression that I thought you needed to be… fixed.”

He doesn’t speak, once again. From the corner of her eye she can see his expression is nerve-wrackingly stoic and unreadable.

“Because I don’t,” she adds quickly. “And _you_ don’t. You’re more than capable as you are, and you’re not–not broken or, or less, or anything so disparaging, and I didn’t want you to think I thought otherwise. I merely… “ She shifts her weight, tilts her head, thinks to tug on her hair but doesn’t, as her hands are soapy and wet, “I know how much it irks you. How much of an inconvenience it is. Well, I don’t _know_ but–”

“Dove.” Thancred’s tone is mild, a reminder to keep her course rather than a reprimand for rambling.

Gwen huffs, chiding herself. “Right. Sorry.” She stares hard at the plate as she scrubs it, “But… You know what I mean.”

Thancred mumbles under his breath, hands shifting slightly and stopping over and over like he’s about to start tugging or twisting the drying cloth but keeps catching himself.

More silence, but she expected it this time, and it’s not so awkward as she feared despite the weighty admission. When she glances at him she finds he’s still looking at her, expression not quite flat.

His eyes skim over her face and then dart to the sink. “Keep scrubbing that plate and you’ll put a hole in it.”

The plate is thoroughly spotless, yet Gwen is still attacking it with a sponge like it’s filthy. “Ah.” She passes it to him and he starts drying it, just like normal.

A strange mix of relief and suspense has tension leaking out of some places and gathering in others. She’s finally let go of both the weighty secrets and the gnawing worry of how to do so, she’s taken steps forward, but she’s not done yet. She’s still in the middle of the journey and the way forward is… a little bit murky.

Where the conversation goes from here, whatever path it takes and wherever it ends, depends on Thancred and what he’s thinking. She doesn’t get a say in that, nor does she get to try and rush him on it.

So she waits.

Eventually Thancred says, faintly sounding like he’s just come to a realization, “You’re expecting me to be angry.”

 _Yes_ and _No_ , crash together into a jumble of _maybe_ s and indecision that make one corner of her mouth pull tight. She abandons all of that, instead making a thoughtful sound as she re-examines all those restless knots and nagging ‘what ifs’ she’d been trying to sort through before breakfast. 

“About how much I was thinking about it?” she says slowly. “No. More,” she tilts her head to one side, letting everything tumble and mix and rearrange itself before sifting through it again, “unamused. Maybe a bit annoyed, or defensive. Exasperated.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but isn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He settles for frowning mildly at the dishrag. 

“About Beq Lugg…” She trails off, turning all of that over a second time. “Yes. Well, more like _probably_. Angry, and hurt and… And you have every right to be.”

He nods slowly, expression setting back into that quasi-pensive look he’d had earlier. 

Gwen keeps scrubbing and passing, and Thancred keeps taking and drying.

She’s already decided he should be the one that gets to control the conversation, seeing how it’s about _him_ and he’s got a lot to consider, but the silence is making her feel a bit like she’s shirking her responsibility. She’s the one that got the ball rolling, after all, and she’s the one with more explaining to do.

Or maybe that’s just her own apprehension talking, prodding at her in the form of nervous impatience.

“Is that where you were last night? Talking with Beq Lugg?” Thancred asks. His tone is neutral, and not in a purposefully careful or controlled sort of way. She detects a hint of… something else to it, too, but she can’t quite tell what it is.

Gwen finds an inordinate amount of relief in the opportunity to keep moving forward instead of stalling out. “Yes. It took a bit of time to explain the situation, and then more for me to ramble about all the theories and questions I’ve already been considering.”

His tone dries out again, “I wager they had a bit of trouble getting their head around the whole ‘someone who can’t manipulate aether’ concept.”

One corner of her mouth curls into a rueful smile. “They did.” 

“Suppose that’s the price I pay for being unique.” His tone levels out, though doesn’t quite go flat. “Shall I assume your explanation involved a history lesson?”

And Gwen wonders how she had managed to overlook the most precarious aspect of her admission. Much as she wants to take the time to shuffle around words and carefully construct her response, silence is a fairly damning thing. 

“A very discreet one.” 

His brows tug together and dip at a disapproving angle. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find that terribly comforting. She wouldn’t either.

A smidge of a flat, clinical tone she’d used in conversation with Beq Lugg edges into her voice, the sort of tone that brooks no room for questions or requests for elaboration. “Being exposed to an overabundance of dark aether for a prolonged period of time sounds potentially relevant. And so does subsequently being more sensitive to magic and tempering after the fact. The specifics of how and why, don’t. And neither does what, exactly, that source of dark aether was. And if I’m wrong about that, well,” she straightens up a little and determinedly scrubs the measuring cups, “it’s not my place to clarify.”

Thancred doesn’t reply right away, focusing instead on the task of drying. 

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, per se, but it’s certainly more awkward than the others have been.

Gwen wonders if she should just keep talking.

He scoffs so abruptly it makes her twitch in surprise. He’s smirking, looking almost ready to shake his head in that fondly exasperated way he sometimes does when he thinks she’s being particularly overwrought. “You sound like Y’shtola. And Krile. And Papalymo.”

“I…” she blinks dumbly, “…do?”

Thancred smirks, satisfied to catch her off guard, then turns back to drying. His tone is expectant when he asks, “So?”

Gwen peers at him, feeling like she should be the one asking that. “So…?”

“Come up with anything?” he asks, casually interested. “Clearly you’ve been thinking on it for a while.”

Gwen can’t help being a bit surprised at how he’s taking the news. He’s been taking steps to get better about listening and not getting defensive at the first signs of an uncomfortable topic, but even so she thought he’d still be more bothered, particularly about her meeting with Beq Lugg. Apparently she hasn’t been giving him enough credit.

She should probably just keep on with the conversation, but instead she asks, “You don’t mind?”

Thancred considers the dishes, mouth bending in a few thoughtful angles. At length he says, “That you’ve been spending so much time thinking of me,” he flashes her a brief smile and she returns it, “and trying to come up with a solution to a particularly inconvenient thorn in my side? Not at all. I do wish you’d clued me in earlier but,” he shrugs one shoulder, “given how much effort I put into being rather… _unapproachable_ about the subject, I understand your hesitance.”

Gwen releases a muted breath and her shoulders start to loosen and relax. He clearly has more to say, but she feels far and away less uncertain than she had before.

He focuses on the dishes again, pressing his lips together and flattening the line of his mouth. “That you consulted another about my condition without my knowledge or consent? I…” 

His mouth bends into a mild frown and a beat later pulls slightly to one side. He half-shakes his head and makes another one-shouldered shrug. “I’m not terribly enthused about it, no.”

She nods slowly, listening as she shifts her weight and watches her hands.

“But,” he breathes through his nose, something like reluctant acceptance tugging at his expression, “I understand. It would be foolish _not_ to make use of the tools at your disposal when trying to solve a problem, and that includes consulting an expert. And I’m quite familiar with the desire to ensure one’s efforts will amount to more than a great deal of disappointment and wasted time before being willing to risk giving others hope. There’s merit to that saying about not counting chocobos before they hatch.”

He pauses, looking as though he’s considering if he’d actually managed to say what he intended. “Your methods leave something to be desired, but you had only good intentions. I’ve certainly been guilty of the same, as have many of our friends. I would have much preferred you’d informed and involved me sooner, but… I understand why you didn’t.”

They’re standing close enough that Gwen barely has to shift her weight to press her arm against his. Guilt isn’t pulling so hard on her anymore, though it’s not gone, either. Understanding isn’t forgiveness or approval, but it’s reassuring and comforting all the same. 

The look on Thancred’s face resolves into one of vague satisfaction and he shifts towards her, pressing them a little more firmly together. There’s something mildly teasing in his tone when he says, “While I do appreciate being the center of your attention, t’would be remiss of me not to remind you there are bigger concerns that need addressing than my lack of magic.”

Her lips pinch together as she considers a reply, feeling the minute shifts in his bicep and shoulder as his hands manipulate the damp dishrag. “Not many that I can do much about.”

He huffs a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “And you do so hate being idle.”

She passes utensils and he dries them. 

“I know a thing or two about secrets, and that carrying them is a punishment all it’s own,” Thancred muses, not quite to himself. “I’m sure your distaste for the practice only served to make it that much less enjoyable.”

He’s right. Her hypocrisy had added a bitter coarseness to the already-uncomfortable weight of secrecy, and served to make her all the more anxious about coming clean.

Gwen tilts her head one way, thoughts shifting and tumbling. She tilts it the other and bumps her temple against his shoulder. “It certainly left a bad taste in my mouth,” she mumbles, frowning at the dishwater and her pruny hands. “We agreed to try and be more open and honest with each other.”

Thancred sets aside the last of the utensils and regards her with a curious look, arching one pale brow. “That all sounded fairly open and honest to me.”

She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, “I should’ve spoken to you sooner.”

“Or you could’ve waited till the very last possible moment, when circumstances finally forced your hand,” he drawls wryly. “Truth be told, that’s the sort of admission I’m more accustomed to these days.”

A short laugh bubbles up her throat and she leans more heavily against him, “Well, when you look at it that way…”

He leans over to bump his chin against her temple and nose at her hair. “So: where has all that pondering and sneaking around behind my back gotten you?”

Gwen pulls from his arm and tugs up the plug in the sink, pouting, “You don’t have to say it like _that_.”

Thancred grins unapologetically, watching while she retrieves a clean dishrag to wipe down the counters. 

Seeing he was utterly unrepentant, and knowing the comment was a _little_ deserved, she heaves a dramatic sigh and starts laying out her theories.

**Author's Note:**

> :D :D
> 
> Ever since we found Beq Lugg and they started talking about souls I’ve been thinking “Thancred’s magic? Maybe?? Right?? He still doesn’t have it on the First! So soul-related? Hey, can you maybe take a look? Hello?” but no one has mentioned it at all
> 
> SO I WENT AND DID IT MYSELF


End file.
